


Sanguine Sacrificium

by NotSoSirius92



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal, Double Penetration, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Multi, Ritual Magic, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 06:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21351766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSoSirius92/pseuds/NotSoSirius92
Summary: "What would you do to save him?"Both pairs of eyes connecting, resolve and desperation swirling between them.“Anything.”
Relationships: Fred Weasley/Hermione Granger/George Weasley, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger
Comments: 28
Kudos: 231
Collections: Pumpkin & Ginger Fall Fest





	Sanguine Sacrificium

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response to a prompt Weasleys, Witches and Writers first ever PUMPKIN & GINGER FEST. Much love to my alphas and betas; KikkyNikky, Ariel Sakura and GaeilgeRua for all of the help! You guys were great. 
> 
> PROMPT: Hermione, Fred and George use sex magic on Samhain, under the full moon.

* * *

She walked in sheer robes, likely the most scandalous thing she’d ever worn. Her hair crackled with electricity in response to the palpable magic surrounding her. 

He was standing in the middle of the clearing - the clearing of trees in an unnaturally perfect circle. His red hair raised in different directions in casual disarray. His lanky frame tall and flickering in the shadows the fire cast. 

She could see his face was pale and tense. 

“Why here?” He asked, and his hand fingered his wand nervously. 

“Three-hundred years ago, a hundred witches were murdered here.” she answered him softly, ”Puritans made a spectacle of them and burned them all on a gigantic funeral pyre. Because of the atrocities committed here, it has been imbibed with the type of powerful magic we need.” 

“What kind of powerful magic?” He asked warily. 

“The kind that will toe the line of light and dark. The magic here is protective but also tainted with sorrow. So it’s volatile, always on the precipice.”

“Hermione, maybe this isn’t such a good idea…”

“No! George! This is the only way to save his life!” She waved her wand, and a red circle appeared on the ground. In its middle, a naked figure lay unmoving on the ground and his eyes fixed on it. “I’ve looked everywhere, every book I could find, to try and find something else,  _ anything _ else. There is  _ nothing _ ,” she said with finality. 

The silence stretched between him before finally she asked.

“What would you do to save him, George?”

Both pairs of eyes connected, resolve and desperation swirled in the space between them. 

“Anything.”

* * *

It was eerily quiet, save for her murmuring incantations here and there. George had to admit that she seemed very assured in what she was doing, but still he remained nervous. 

This was not magic anyone should ever attempt, yet here they were. 

Hermione’s hair whipped around her face, and George would have thought the whole thing cliche’ if the situation wasn’t so grave. His twin’s life was in the balance, and the only thing between Fred and certain death was the Brightest-Witch-of-Their-Age. 

The three were in a ring encased in a silver glow from the moon, and it flickered ominously as clouds obscured its brightness.

“George, give him these potions,” Hermione commanded, and immediately began chanting. Her voice took on a hypnotic quality. The spell she was reciting sounded old, and song-like. George shook himself and crouched near his twin, shaking him gently. 

“Forge,” Fred whispered weakly. “To what do I owe this breathtaking scene?” They both looked to where Hermione had taken off her robes, and the firelight illuminated her curvature in a dizzying manner. 

“I need you to take these,” George responded urgently, slipping an Invigoration Draught, Pain Potion, and lust potion down his throat easily. 

Hermione made her way towards them like some ethereal being emerging from the fiery depths of Tartarus: Beautiful and terrifying. 

“Since we don’t have a full coven, I will be High Priestess over all of the elements we seek to call forth,” Hermione said fiercely, and proceeded to raise her hands in the air, one holding her wand, the other a ceremonial athame. It looks old and dangerous as it glinted in the light.

She waved her wand, and four tokens appeared, settling themselves around the circle to represent each of the elements. 

Turning to face the east, Hermione called out in a commanding voice.

“May air be here, pure and unmixed. May I live in its presence and under its influence.” The wind whipped around them chaotically. 

She faced the south, and through lust-filled eyes, Fred sat up, stroking himself with the view of her perfect derriere. 

‘For Fred,’ George kept thinking to himself.

“May fire be here, pure and unmixed. May I live in its presence and under its influence.” 

The flickering candles burned brighter and larger than should have been normal, and George felt a warm glow wash over him.

Turning his attention to Fred, George did as he was instructed prior to the ritual. Taking a small dagger from his pocket, he made a small cut on both his and Freds wrists, and together he held them over a silver goblet. He let their life force trickle out and combine at the bottom of the goblet before he silently healed their weeping skin. 

And Hermione faced the west. 

“May water be here, pure and unmixed. May I live in its presence and under its influence.” As easily as the warm glow had washed over him seconds earlier; there was now a cool breeze settling over his skin, as though he were walking along a beach and the ocean mist was fanning his face. 

Facing north, Hermione called out strongly “May earth be here, pure and unmixed. May I live in its presence and under its influence.”

The grass somehow felt alive, caressing bare skin as George made to divest himself of his clothing, knowing what was to come. 

Hermione, on shaky legs, made her way to the center of the circle, standing there with the two red heads at her feet as though she were a Goddess, and they were simply mere mortals worshipping at her altar. 

“By blood and sacrifice,” she whispered. 

Though her lips trembled and her eyes held fear - her words and the dagger she pressed over her left breast were not. Through clenched fingers, she pressed the dagger in over her heart just deep enough to allow a steady stream of blood flow. 

George immediately lifted the goblet to her breast, catching the blood flow from her easily. 

She crawled over Fred, resting atop him so their hips aligned, but not yet connected. George watched as his brother ran feeble hands across her hips, feathering his fingers apart. His dilated eyes were watching her with adoration, a silent thank you passed his lips. Knowing what she was sacrificing, knowing that it was to save his poor, diseased body. There would be nothing he wouldn’t do for her if he managed to survive, George knew - because he felt the same. 

“I call upon Samhain, on this most sacred night to bless this circle. Let the spirit of Samhain dwell in me, along with the power of my mothers before me. I ask the spirits of the witches here to come forth, to aid me with pure intentions.”

Hermione dipped her hand into the goblet containing their combined life forced and pressed her fingers to her lips, coating them breathlessly. She pressed her blood coated lips to George’s first, then his brothers and he could almost hear the silent chants of a hundred witches circling them. 

Slowly, she sank atop Fred, wincing as the barriers she’d kept safe throughout her life were broken for the first time. George pressed his lips against her bare shoulder blade, doing his best to ease the tension away from them. He left a bloody print behind. 

After an immeasurable time, she began to move, initiating a slow, steady rhythm. Her hand reached for his, and George repositioned himself at her side, hating himself for the groan that escaped his lips as she took him in her hand. 

Golden light swirled around them, and George moved nimble fingers over Hermione’s center, doing his best to give her some form of pleasure. 

Hermione’s groans and whimpers seemed to be an aphrodisiac to both men because Fred’s hands gripped her hips harder and began rocking up into her, and George swept his mouth across hers, still tasting the blood there, greedily swallowing her moans. His fingers increased their speed and pressure along her clit, begging whatever God was listening to make her come, to reward her in some way for her sacrifice.

“Hermione, I’m going to start,” He whispered soothingly, taking his position behind her. 

She immediately tensed up, and he made quick work of casting both lubrication and numbing charms. 

The process of easing into her arse was torturously slow. She was tight and warm, and George kept having to remind himself that though this was what she had chosen, it was not how she must have dreamed her first time. 

He hated dark rituals or rituals that toed the line. He hated that the ritual had to be this way. But, Hermione had warned them that something like this would be required. Three was an incredibly powerful number, not just in the muggle world. Whether the holy trinity or otherwise, three was a nexus power that always provided just a bit more than their normal magics: something uncomfortable and unfamiliar and just a little terrifying. 

It should have been Ron, George mused, and his heart clenched, a dull ache opposing the mesmerizing feel of her body between him and his twin. 

Pistoning themselves in and out of her body had the witch trembling between them, the tension in her body leaving as she succumbed to the magic they were invoking.

“Hermione…” Fred whimpered, “I’m getting so close.”

'Me too, brother mine. Just need more coordination,' George thought as he tried his best not to slam into her, his eyes locking with Fred’s over her delicate shoulder.. 

Fred nodded at his twin over her shoulder - and George felt his heart soar, his Fred was back - and they began a back and forth rhythm that caused Hermione to sob with the intensity of the feelings surrounding them. 

A golden glow settled over their circle, pulsating in tandem with gyrating hips. 

“It’s time,” she groaned out, and George held her upright, allowing her body to brace against his as words left her mouth in a breathless chant. 

“Assist me to erect the ancient altar, at which in days past, all worshipped. The great altar of all things. For in old times, Woman was the altar. Thus was the altar made and placed, And the sacred place was the point within the center of the Circle.” 

She stared into the eyes of his brother, and she nodded her head once before continuing, never missing a beat as the men inside of her stilled for one, infinite, moment. 

“By woman, life was given, and by woman, life is sustained.” 

It was beautiful and breathless, but as soon as she finished, It felt as though his soul was being pulled from his lips.

A thrumming feeling pulsated throughout his being, and a magnetic charge between the three dispersed through them. The golden ring around their circle burst forth in a solid flash of light, leaving stars blinding their eyes. Hermione cried out, toeing the precipice of agony and ecstasy, and George wished he could have felt her walls contracting around him as his own orgasm was sprung about, and he emptied into her - his hand’s were steel vices on the slope of her waist. 

Fred likewise, was tipped over the edge, his hips rocketing up into hers once, twice, three more times before collapsing back to the ground, his breaths coming in quick pants. 

The light of the moon bathed over them, creating soothing lines against pale skin. 

Fred sat up after a while, looking alive and with more color to his cheeks than George had seen in weeks. 

“There aren’t words,” he spoke fervently to the witch between them. He brushed the curls from her face, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“I owe you my life, little witch.”

She smiled at him, and George could see a plethora of emotions run across her face before it settled on relief. 

“It was nothing,” she waved him off, hugging him. 

Suddenly she blushed. “Merlin, I’m naked!”

Fred and George roared in laughter, “We just performed a dark ritual, had a threesome and took your virginity. You’re worrying about clothes  _ now _ ?”

She shook her head in an embarrassed manner before transfiguring her sheer robes into a long nightdress. 

“I have to go home,” she stated solemnly, and the twins both winced. 

“Do you want us to go with you?” George asked hesitantly. 

“No. This is something I have to do on my own,” she said resolutely, rising to her feet. 

George engulfed her in a bone breaking hug. 

“Thank you,” he whispered into her curls, “for saving him. I hate that you have to pay this price.”

She tried for bravado, but he could feel her tears soaking his shirt, “It was the easiest choice in the world.”

Hermione pulled back to kiss his cheek and exited the circle. In the pale silver of the moon, in her white dressing gown, she looked like the witches of old. Powerful and innocent. It wasn’t lost on George that on this night, magic had bound them in more ways than one. He could feel the familiar hunger stirring in his gut, a longing to take her into his arms again. 

Her eyes blazed as she looked back at them. 

And then, she was gone. 

* * *

Hermione apparated into the bathroom of her flat and immediately emptied her stomach into the toilet. 

During the ritual, she had felt alive, powerful - like an unstoppable force of nature. Now, however, she felt anything but. 

“You did it, didn’t you?” A voice sounded from the door. 

Hermione wiped her mouth, and squeezed her eyes shut to blink back the sting before turning to face him. 

Ron's face held no anger or resentment, just a resigned acceptance. She immediately ran into his arms, craving the safety he’d always provided her. He smelled of treacle tart, warm wool sweaters and pumpkin pie. He smelled like home. 

He squeezed her fiercely against him, and Hermione could hear him struggle to even out his breath. 

“I couldn’t let him die,” she pleaded with him in a soft tone. 

“I know,” he said, “I just wish the price wasn’t so high.”

She sobbed into his shirt for what felt like hours, and he just sat there silently, stroking her hair and telling her it was going to be alright. 

When she attempted to unbutton the top of his shirt, he merely held her hands in one of his and tugged her closer. 

“You know I love you, right?” She asked him hours later. 

He scoffed, “that’s never been a question, love.”

She pulled her head back to look into calm blue eyes. “But you know I love  _ you _ , right?” 

He sighed, “as I, you. And - you know how much I wish it was enough. But you’ve evoked magicks tonight that supercede whatever we have with each other, Hermione. There’s a reason this ritual hasn’t been performed in years. Why triads are so frowned upon. It isn’t a bond that you can control, nor deny. You will try and fight it, you’ll try to stay loyal to me. Eventually though, you’ll go back to him. Them. And I need to be in a better place when you do. Because I cannot see that, right now.”

He pulled the neck of her dressing gown to the side, his fingers ghosting over the slow healing mark the athame had carved into her skin. 

“There’s a reason blood is so sacred amongst some families,” he said softly. 

“Kiss me then,” she begged, “one last time. Please, Ron.”

When his lips met hers, she knew that he was right. It lacked the fire that had always licked her skin whenever he touched her. It was nice, sure. But Hermione was already missing the passion she’d felt only hours before. 

When she pulled away from him, Ron just smiled sadly and pulled her into his chest again. 

“Sleep, love,” he whispered.

* * *

When she woke the next morning, he was gone. 


End file.
